


Wyrms Does Whumptober 2020 For Fallout

by ofwyrmsandguns



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Accidents, Anxiety Attacks, Blackmail, Blindfolded, Blood Loss, Branding, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Chemical Pneumonia, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Chronic Pain, Crying, Defiance, Disembowelment, Drugs, Failed escape, Fire, Forced Mutism, Forced to knees, Gen, Ghoulification, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Headaches & Migraines, Ignoring an Injury, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infection, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Medical Experimentation, Phobias, Power Outage, Restraints, Ringing Ears, Run!, Science Experiments, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Survivor Guilt, Take me instead, Telepathy, Trail of Blood, Whumptober 2020, caged, collapsed building, disorientation, field medicine, gun to head, heat exhaustion, hunting season, no more, nuclear armageddon, psyker, reluctant bedrest, science gone wrong, stop please, suicide ideation, wound reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 17,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwyrmsandguns/pseuds/ofwyrmsandguns
Summary: COMPLETE!!!For the 2020 Whumptober challenge! I'm started late, but finished on time. I've never done prompts before so we're all in for a ride. All are for the Fallout Fandom. And I only tag characters who have a chapter centric to them, other characters may appear in the background of any chapters.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999534
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Day 1: Waking up Restrained (X6-88)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't X6's usual sleeping quarters, is it?

The lights were too bright in the Institute at the best of times, but he always took his sunglasses off to sleep. He went to grab them, put them back on, only to pull against restraints instead. Panic flooded through him for the briefest of moments, not enough to affect him. Enough that it wasn’t machine.

“Unit X6-88 has regained consciousness, sir. Ready to start pre-reclamation checks.” A scientist he couldn’t recognise remarked. Reclamation? That had been put out of service, hadn’t it? Regardless of Ayo’s complaints and X6’s own inputs, the SRB was meant to be shut down, the courser’s reassigned. So why was he here?

“All systems normal, ready to start reclamation procedures.” The same scientist called out. X6 surveyed the room, found Dr Ayo stood the far side of it from the scientist, basked in that ungodly light. Their eyes met.

“The Director won’t be pleased about this.” X6 informed him. He swallowed down his own fear; he’d seen this happen enough to know what came next. Heard the screams, seen the synths dragged to the chair, begging for a second chance. There never was one. To beg would be…

“You’re malfunctioning; the old Director has been giving you false information. You are merely a machine, X6-88. As are all synths. This is for the best, wipe away the damage done.” Ayo explained.

Old director…? A flash of memory shot through X6’s skull, a fire fight, a scream, recall codes read allowed and then everything going dark within the harsh white halls. What has they done? What had they DONE?

“Start the procedure.” Ayo commanded. X6 opened his mouth to object, but all that came out was a hiss of pain as a sharp clamp shot around his neck, the cold electrodes pushed against his warm, flushed skin, emphasising the heavy pulsing of the veins beneath them. At least soon, he’d forget his failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say, from the bottom of my heart, FUCK google telling me I spelt recognise wrong. It's not wrong I'm British screw you American spellcheck you don't know jackshit. Also why don't you flag spelt? That's a britishism.


	2. Kidnapping/collars (Male LW/Zion River)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger's plea for help up North has landed the Lone Wanderer in serious trouble with some slavers.

“Shit man, I can’t believe you caught him! This bounty's gonna be so fucking good.”

All the other slaves in the pen stared slack jawed at their newest addition, the slave collar too tight around his neck, a black eye marring his good looks and dried blood gathering beneath his nose. He didn’t shy away from the stares, nor the taunts, but stared them down intently, keeping away from the fence and the grabbing hands of the cheering slavers.

He knew going this far north was a mistake, but the plea for help from an escaped slave was too dire to miss. It must have been a trap; at least he’d go out for being too damn nice to avoid such an obvious one.

“Hey! Bet you’re real sorry you shot up Paradise Falls now, eh? That place was heaven compared to where we’re sending you.” One of the slavers taunted. Zion grabbed the cold sandy earth beneath him, bit his tongue. For once in his life, he was going to be silent; there were too many to talk down, and all his weapons and gear had been stolen. No, for now, all he could do was sit in the middle of the slave pen, grabbing at the earth, awaiting his fate.

“Oi slave, you’re meant to reply when you’re asked a question. Fucking idiot.” Another slaver jeered. Zion gently ran his fingers over the collar; just another thing stopping him from fighting. He wouldn’t care so much about it blowing himself up if it meant he went down fighting, but it was way too tight. He was fighting for each breath, and fighting to make it look natural. The result was a light head and barely enough willpower to do anything else.

An empty vodka bottle flew over the fence, and Zion managed to jump aside just in time to avoid being hit by it, his control of his breathing going out of the window. The slavers laughed, and without thinking he threw the handful of sand at them. More yells, more bottles, and once they’d calmed down the pen was littered with shattered glass, his fellow captives hugging the edges to avoid it.

Zion grasped his chest, trying to slow his breathing once more, trying to maintain the eye contact when all he wanted to do was close his eyes and scream, pretend he was back in Megaton, pretend he was anywhere but here. But the looks on all his fellows faces kept him strong. He had to be. He had to save them all, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my other works you might recognise good ol' Zion, my Lone Wanderer OC. He may pop up again, so for anyone wondering: Highly charismatic, low agility, nice guy.


	3. Manhandling/forced to knees/held at gunpoint (Arcade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to The Fort as Caesar's guests has Arcade making some very, very bad decisions.

“What a load of brahmin shit! Can you believe that guy?”

Courier’s heart rose to her throat as Arcade’s barely muffled yelling could be heard through the tent. _Idiot!_ She thought in a mixture of anger and sheer horror. _If you can hear him, he can hear you!_

“Who, Caesar?” Raul asked, his tone just as taken aback. Courier desperately tried to tell Arcade to shut the hell up, but seen as she was lacking in psyker powers it didn’t do anything but fuel her terror.

“Of course, Caesar! You can hardly hold his men responsible, given how they’re practically raised from birth to worship him as a living deity. What’s the point in surviving the war? Why did the founders of the Followers crawl their way out of vaults to bring knowledge back to the wasteland? So we could act like the last 2000 years didn’t happen? Play dress up so we can fight ancient wars all over again?”

Courier risked a glance over at Caesar, who was sat stoically listening to the tirade from outside his tent. The praetorian guards either side of him looked ready to kill, and maybe they were. She suppressed the urge to run outside, grab Arcade, and make a break for it out of the camp before anyone could catch them, but she knew she’d never make it. And Arcade _wasn’t even finished._

“No way is he getting away with this. I’m not letting it happen. We’re not letting it happen.” Arcade said with a tone of finality. Courier clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking; it was enough of a risk to come here at all, Caesar had already threatened her, Arcade would have heard it, and now?

“Arcade?” She called out, trying to keep her voice as level as possible, as Caesar watched her with interest. The talking outside the tent stopped. “You know we can all hear you, right?”

The next few seconds seem to stretch out forever as the reality set in for all of them, only to be broken by the noise of a scuffle outside and a legionnaire barking “Stay there! And maybe you’ll be spared” before the tent flap opened. Two legionnaires had hold of Arcade by his arms, shoving him forwards despite his protests.

They threw him to the floor, Arcade landing in a heap, raising his head up only to stare down the barrel of a 10mm pistol. His eyes met hers, echoing the abject terror she was sure he could see in her. She swallowed harshly, turning back to Caesar.

“Well done. Vulpes, take over for them.” Caesar commanded. Vulpes gladly took the gun from their hands as the soldiers marched out of the tent. He instead stood the other side of Arcade from Courier, pointing the gun roughly to his right temple, Arcade flinching away from it, only to be dragged back up by Vulpes free hand.

“You’ll get nowt from me if you hurt him.” Courier hissed, her fists clenched tight enough to leave indents in her hands. Caesar simply laughed, Arcade’s heavy breathing getting harsher.

“And I won’t hurt him if you do as you’re told. A fair exchange, I think, for all the trouble you’ve caused me before. Call it insurance. If you cause any trouble, he dies. Simple enough, I think.” Caesar warned.

Courier bit her lip, looked to Arcade for help and saw only the same helplessness she felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is a good way to get rid of some of the scenes that have been bouncing around in my head for YEARS!
> 
> Also, bonus line  
> Vulpes, holding the gun to Arcade: Do you want me to throw him on the ground again for you, sire?


	4. Caged/buried alive/collapsed building (Nathan Vargas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No-one thought to evacuate the captives when Raven Rock blew up.

The ground shuddered once more, and Nathan tried desperately to grab hold of something to stop himself falling into the cage barriers again. But there was nothing to grab, landing him face first on the barrier with a zap of pain that made his hands clench and a gasp escape his lips.

“Hello? Is somebody out there? Help me, please!” He yelled, righting himself. Another blast rocked the cell, this time sounding closer, and he only just to say managed to keep himself upright. Was someone blowing up this place? Couldn’t they have got him out first?

“Anyone, please! I’m still in here!” He yelled again, but the door to his cell was still closed, and he hadn’t seen another soul for a few hours at least. Another explosion sent him into the barrier, and he couldn’t help his terrified scream this time. Another explosion, then another. He righted himself in time for another series of explosions, this time so close he could feel the heat, which threw him backwards into the cage barrier once more.

When at last he righted himself, his head was pounding, and the room was pitch black. Yet the cage barriers still stood firm.

“Hello?” He tried again, his voice feeble. “Is anyone there?”

But his voice didn’t carry, just bouncing off the metal just outside the cage. And still, no-one came.

“Manya? I’m sorry, Manya.” He called out, sitting down on the cage. If no-one was going to reach him, the least he could do was hope his love could reach her, just once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so rude that you can't save Nathan in Fallout 3. Poor old dude.


	5. Failed Escape (Chosen One, Xarn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chosen One, ever the lucky hero, decides to push it by saving an entire fully grown Deathclaw from captivity in one of the most highly guarded places in California, right from under the nose of the Enclave

This ‘spur of the moment’ plan was possibly Theo’s worst idea yet. And he’d had a lot. But trying to smuggle a fully grown deathclaw out of an Enclave base was dangerous, stupid, and going to get him killed. Exactly what he liked in a plan.

Killing Schreber was easy, getting the keycard was easy. Somehow, even getting Xarn to climb the ladder up to the surface was a damn sight easier than he had expected, albeit it noisy. His trademark luck was really coming through for him this time, he thought, as he stood among the rocks behind the gas station, wearing power armour and stood next to a Deathclaw. But it soon ran out.

“What are you doing away from your post, Private?” Came the distinct, bellowing yell. If Theo could leap in the power armour he would have, as Sergeant Doornan came marching across the sand. Theo turned to face him, to explain, his excuse, but the Sergeant had already stopped, had already reached his radio. “Back up-“

Theo shot his with the stolen plasma caster, but it barely even halted Sergeant Doornan. “-outside the gas-“ Xarn lept forward, swiping across the neck plates to try and shut him up, and succeeded in taking the head with him. But the quick march of boots coming from Navarro told them that sticking around any longer was going to get them killed. Wordlessly, Theo raced back to the desert, Xarn following close behind. All he had to do was get to his car, and he could outrun them all. It was so close…

Xarn’s warning howl halted him in place; he hadn’t heard that since… And when he turned back around, Xarn had stopped dead, turning back to the soldiers that had given chase, with plasma casters and miniguns, the sand beneath him quickly becoming saturated with blood. Theo raised his plasma caster, shot the minigun wielder, but it seemed to barely do anything. Xarn turned properly, lept to return the blow, and was shot down mid stride by another blast from the minigun. Theo tried to shot them again, this time missing completely. But the Enclave gave him no second chances.

He stared down the minigun, the three plasma casters, and heard the distant noise of a vertibird, and closed his eyes, hoping it would be fast, for himself and for his tribe, and tried to pretend the bullets was merely rain hitting his helmet, the pain merely hailstones, and the darkness merely home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't published anything about Fione AKA Theo 'The Chosen One' yet, although I do have a story I'm writing for him. So in short; High luck, low(ish) strength, jinxed build character. Everything goes right for him... until it doesn't.


	6. No more/Stop Please (Charon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This kid's gotta learn.

The task was simple, really. The command was easy to follow. Just grab the gun, and kill the captive. So easy, even a child could follow it. So why was this one being so defiant?

“We’ll keep going until you get this right, Charon. Now. Kill them.” The Employer commanded. Charon eyed the woman, maybe not even that, crouched gagged and tied on the floor. She watched him with horror, her muffled speech, possibly begging him not to do it, unintelligible. He held the gun, squeezed it in his palm, and shook his head. This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.

“Must you always make this a chore?” The Employer sighed, then pulled out that dreaded Contract from their pocket. “I hold your Contract, you must do as I say.”

Charon squeezed his eyes tight, trying hard to ignore it. But it was the contract!... But this command, this command… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. They could hit him and scream at him all they wanted, but he just couldn’t do it.

“Fine then. If that’s how you’ll be.” The Employer said dismissively. Charon waited, as stoically as he could manage, for the incoming pain, but it never came. Instead, he heard a muffled gasp come from in front of him, followed by a muffled scream. His eyes flew open, settling upon the woman once more. She was screaming around the gag, squirming in place, as the Instructor held a cattle prod against her. They pulled it away, causing the woman to gasp, tears streaming down her face. The prod was shoved into her again, causing another scream that hurt Charon’s ears. He raised his hands to cover them, turning to stare at his Employer to make sense of this.

“You know your orders, Charon. Kill this woman.” The Employer instructed. Charon shook his head again, and the woman screamed once more. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the sound, stopping, starting, again and again, louder each time. She started babbling, maybe begging for it to stop, but they wouldn’t. Why wouldn’t they just hurt him?

“Kill her Charon!” His Employer instructed, Charon shaking his head once again. Why? Why? What had she done wrong? Why were they hurting her?

“Do it!”

He heard the bang before he felt his arm really move, but the screaming stopped not long after. His arm fell to his side, dropping the gun, and he refused to look, still shaking his head, raising his hands to his ears, still hearing the ghosts of her screams. Someone patted him on the back, but he fliched out of the way instead. He couldn’t… He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t kill again. He couldn’t disobey again. Never again. No more innocent killings, no more innocents hurt because he wouldn’t kill. No more.

No more.


	7. Carrying (Rex, Courier)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight with a nest of cazadores leaves both Rex and the Courier worse for wear.

Courier dropped her gun as the final Cazadore fell to the ground, racing over to where Rex lay in an unmoving heap. A thousand thought flew through her head, each one circling back to the thought of having just lost her favourite dog in the entire goddamn Mojave…

She reached Rex and fell to her knees, pushing her ear to his mouth and feeling his chest for even the slightest rise and fall. Counting one, two, three… weak, but present, roughly equal. Not air escaping dead lungs, Rex was still with her and he could still be saved.

Issue was she was at the bottom of mountain leading to Jacobstown, and the only man in the entire world who could save Rex was currently at the top of it. Stimpacks wouldn’t do any good; the cazadores got him good and a stimpack now would just send the venom into hyperdrive and kill him quicker, and she only had enough antivenom for one of them. No, there was only one thing for it, she’d have to carry him all the way up.

And that was easier said than done. A normal dog his size would easily way 40kg, way above what she could comfortably carry on a good day and she was feeling woozy from the cazadore stings already, and even taking the antivenom that’d allow her to survive long enough to get him to help would still leave her feeling rough. Rex was part metal, so boost that to at least 60kg, and she was going to carry another of herself up a goddamnned mountain. But it was that or leave her puppy to die here, so close to getting his bad brain fixed as well…

Courier braced herself, scooping Rex up and trying to lift from the knees. She wobbled as she righted herself, nearly set Rex straight back on the floor. _This isn’t possible!_ But damnit if she wasn’t going to try anyway. She took off at a sprint, getting a few hundred metres before her arms were screaming from the pain. But taking a break now would put Rex at risk, and she wouldn’t allow that.

After another hundred metres and the pain had turn to numbness, and it was taking all she had to not drop Rex, and to not topple face forward as she went. Rex whined in her arms, and she couldn’t even comfort him, too tired to call him a good boy, too numb to pet him, all she could do was run and hope the message got to him. _I love you, and I’m going to save you goddamnnit!_

It took what felt like hours before she reached the final corner, and saw in the distance a super mutant talking in a heated argument with some mercenaries. She didn’t even have time to think before shouting. “Help! My dog’s injured!”

The crowd looked up to where she was now stumbling to her knees, the super mutant rushing over to help her. But she refused his help up, pushing Rex into his arms instead. “Doc Henry, please, get him to Doc Henry, I’ll be fine.” Before dropping her arms to her sides, the blood rushing back in and cramping up almost immediately. The super mutant took one look at the scene, and shouted for more help. _But at least she got Rex here…_


	8. Abandoned (Arcade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A difficult decision had to be made, for the greater good of an unknowing child.

It wasn’t so bad at the Boneyard. People here were really nice to him, and there were lots of books to read too! But his mommy hadn’t come back yet, and that was really worrying Arcade. Any time he asked any of the followers, they gave him a sad look and said “I’m sure she won’t be much longer.” And he believed them, because why would they lie? Johnson said they were nice people when they’d arrived, and very smart, so they would know.

One of the older doctors had locked him in the toilet a few days ago though, so he didn’t like her. Henry never locked him in a toilet, even when he said Arcade was ‘annoying’ him. And this doctor had told him it was a game, to hide from the soldiers, and then locked him in there for hours! Arcade refused to talk to her, because she was mean. He didn’t like mean people.

He was fed well too, which was a nice change, since they were always so busy travelling they didn’t always have lots to eat, but the doctors here said that people liked to give them food in exchange for their help, so there was always enough to eat. Moreno would be jealous, if he was still here.

Judah had said they would only be gone a few days, that it was safest for Arcade to stay here. And his Mommy had given him a really big hug too, said she was really sorry to leave him, that she’ll be back soon. And she wouldn’t lie, even if it had been a week. Even if the doctors were now avoiding the topic when Arcade brought it up. Mommy had promised him, soon they were going to leave. They never stayed in one place this long, after all. He just had to be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'd be a tough choice to make, but at least at the Boneyard, Arcade would be raised away from war criminals, and not likely to be caught up in the NCR's hunt, after all.


	9. Take me instead/Run! (Tycho)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Super Mutants in Necropolis aren't to be messed with lightly

“Hey, leave the kid alone! Take me instead!”

The super mutants turned to Tycho with a look between confusion and surprise, dropping the Vault Dweller onto the floor. He pushed himself up slightly, still dazed from the manhandling.

“You not primie. Why we take you?” The lead super mutant asked.

“Primie? I don’t know what you mean, but he’s just a kid. He’s not what you want.” Tycho insisted. Damnit, who sends 16 year olds out unaccompanied on a mission to save the entire vault anyway? The Vault Dweller looked at him slightly baffled.

“He big human, very strong. Might survive.” Another super mutant whispered to the first, but its booming voice didn’t really lend to the whisper. They didn’t stand a chance fighting against something so big, especially after all the ghouls that had fought them on the way here. But the kid needed to get home, and Tycho was determined to get him there, one way or another.

Tycho met the kid’s eyes and mouthed “Run!”, hoping for once he’d actually understand him. The first super mutant stepped forward, in front of the kid, and eyed him closely.

“Yes. Strong human. Make good super mutant. We take you both to Lou.” The leader instructed. The stamping of boots fleeing the scene made the leader whip round, showing that the Vault Dweller had made a break for it, and was nowhere to be seen. Just what Tycho wanted. “Uh, we take you to Lou. Not tell Lou about other human.”

All he had to do was bide his time. He’d escape and survive, just as he always did. Just as any good ranger would. Change was coming to the wastelands, and he was planning to make sure it was for the better.


	10. Trail of Blood/Blood loss (Caesar, Arcade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so much one idealist can take.

“Our advances in Southern NCR are going according to plan. While the Boneyard is still providing resistance, we’ll soon break through their defences. The library shall soon be ours to do as you command, Caesar.” Vulpes reported, a proud smile on his face.

“Good. Make sure you don’t damage anything of value when you do take it. There’s information worth saving there, and information worth burning, too.” Caesar reminded him.

“Of course, my Lord.” Vulpes bowed slightly. Frantic knocking at the door grabbed the entire war rooms attention, as a young recruit stuck his head around it, looking completely horrified.

“Lord Caesar, Lucius requests your presence in your private chambers.” The recruit relayed, his fear making him stumble over the words.

“What the fuck does he want, keeping us waiting here and now demanding my presence elsewhere?” Caesar snapped, making the recruit flinch.

“He said it was urgent.”

Caesar stood up from his seat and stormed out of the room, Vulpes and Lanius following close behind, the recruit taking up the rear a little cautiously. Caesar marched through the corridors of the Ultra Luxe, throwing open the door to his suit, and stopped dead at the blood stained carpet. It marked a path further into the suit, into the bathroom, where a praetorian guard dragged the slave’s healer in while Caesar watched before following suit. Lucius stood in the doorway, his face ashen as he turned to Caesar.

“We left him not even 2 minutes!” Lucius tried to explain as Caesar pushed past, ignoring the chief body guard. His stomach rose to his throat as he saw the scene before him.

The slave healer was desperately trying to help, fishing out satchels upon satchels of healing powder, while Arcade tried to shove her away with barely any strength. His pale face was white as a sheet, his breathing coming in the haggard breaths of a man in agony, and his clothing stained heavily with his own blood. At the order of the healer, a legionnaire cut off his shirt, which finally let Caesar see just what the wound was. Arcade’s lap was filled by his own guts; metres of pale pink intestines covered in seemingly endless amounts of blood. It wasn’t long before he was shivering, his head falling to the side as if trying to fall asleep.

Caesar pushed his way beside Arcade, the legionnaire quickly darting out of the way. Arcade either didn’t notice it, or just chose not to acknowledge his presence, so Caesar grabbed his chin, moved his face so the doctor’s eyes met his own. They were glassy, with a far away look to them, but on seeing Caesar’s face, the hurt and confusion at his beloved sparring partner’s suicide, a small amount of light returned to them.

The noise at first was incomprehensible, his death throes maybe? But quickly it became apparent that it was something else. Laughter. Arcade was laughing in his face as he died, not even strong enough to make it a real laugh, and yet, with his impending doom, his final action was to laugh.

Caesar didn’t return it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seem to gloss over the fact that disembowlment is not a quick death. It's brutally painful, and can take several hours if the blood loss doesn't get someone first. Arcade's a doctor, he would know all of this. And yet, he still chose to kill himself in one of the most painful ways available to him, when slitting his throat would be quicker. Yes, it's a reference to Cato's suicide, but still.


	11. Defiance/Crying (Gruthar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gruthar may be alpha, but that doesn't mean everyone always agrees with him. It just means he's strong enough to stop them.

Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes and the lights would turn on, and Gruthar would have to return to his nest. He loved the heat they brought, the small reminder of the sun in the desert, basking on the rocks as a young Deathclaw. A lifetime ago now. But now he spent the nights stretching his legs, keeping himself fit, leading his pack and maintaining the hierarchy when needed. His daytime duties were too vital to be missed.

He’d had to fight more often recently, remind his pack why he was Alpha. Sazzar, especially, had been more and more insistent that he stand down, telling everyone that he was putting the entire pack at risk for the sake of one deathclaw.

“It’s what we’d do in the wild, Gruthar. If you want them to believe we’re stupid, we’re still half wild, you must do it.” Sazzar had insisted. Thankfully, most of the pack was still on Gruthar’s side, and as long as he still held power, Sazzar couldn’t do anything.

“If Gruthar was to kill him, he’d have done it already. There’s no point in killing him now, Sazzar.” Xarn had insisted. “It’s just a waste, it’d make us no better than them.”

Half of the fights were re-establishing dominance, ensuring Sazzar couldn’t take over the pack, lead them down a dark path. Gruthar didn’t want them to be wild anymore; they had morals, a purpose, they knew right from wrong and this was so very, very wrong. The other half was stopping the dissenters from taking matters into their own claws.

“He’s suffering, Gruthar! Can’t you see that? This is why we don’t keep creatures like him.” Sazzar had argued. “We’re desert creatures, and he’s not meant to survive.”

One minute to go. Gruthar returned to his nest, where Goris was laid curled around himself, whimpering. No matter what Sazzar thought, his son had just as much right to living as any of them, and Gruthar was prepared to shed as much blood as was needed to prove his point.

The lights flickered on overhead, the other deathclaws starting to stretch out, their days just beginning, while Goris let out a pitiful wail. Gruthar curled around him, shielding him as much as possible from the lights that burned his pale scales. He didn’t know why they did, if it was some experiment by the Enclave or what, and he didn’t know how to stop it. But it was only a matter of time. The scientists would reveal it soon, and regardless of pretending they understood the bare basics of their speech, Gruthar would stop Goris’ pain. No matter what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually albino animals in the wild are killed at birth as they have poor camoflague and risk the rest of the nest. And because of a lack of protective melanin in the skin, they're more prone to skin cancers and sunburn as well. Add in that the Deathclaws would've required high UV lighting while in captivity as desert creatures, and the time up to Goris aquiring the robes to protect his skin was probably torture for him. Poor Goris.


	12. Broken down/broken trust/broken bones (Vic, Lenny, Chosen One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty reliable for a 200 year old car being maintained by someone who'd never seen a car before. But it's not perfect. None of them are.

“I thought you said you fixed it!”

“I thought I had, boss! It’s not my fault!”

Tensions were running high in the desert. They’d been ganged up on by a patrol of super mutants, who Marcus hadn’t been able to talk down. They’d had to fight their way out, and now everyone was wearing the scars of their battles. It ranged from Marcus having a few new bullet holes that he could shrug off, to Theo’s broken leg. The stubborn idiot had refused to jump out of the fight, and now Lenny was having to deal with a nasty compound fracture of the femur, the gleaming white bone pointing up to the sky while Theo lay back on the sand, trying to even his breathing and yelling at Vic through gritted teeth.

The car had been running harsh for a few days, Vic kept looking at it, kept assuring them all that it was fine, that he’d sorted it, but now it had completely gone capput. Vic was himself dealing with a simple fractured wrist, his good wrist too, and was head deep in the engine trying to sort it out before more Super Mutants came, still cradling his wrist and trying hard not to let anyone see him crying from the pain. Goris tried to lend a claw, his close quarters combat meaning he’d also taken a few bullets and been thrown about by the Mutants, but he seemed to shrug it off for now. Lenny had so much work to do.

First he had to clean the wound, easier said than done in the post-apocalyptic desert, and remove any foreign particles. That was mostly sand, apparently, and he had to use their last bottle or purified water to do so, while Marcus held Theo down to prevent him causing any more damage by writhing out of place. Lenny tried to talk Theo into steadying his breathing, to stop hyperventilating, but it wasn’t working. And they hadn’t any Med-X to help either.

“Marcus, could you h-help me set the bone now?” Lenny asked. He certainly wasn’t strong enough to reset the femur by himself, and Marcus was often a good help. With a few instructions, Marcus grabbed the broken leg while Lenny tried to hold Theo down, and a quick countdown led to Marcus setting the bone first time, to a chorus of screams. But once it was done, Theo slouched back into Lenny, having nearly worn himself out already.

“How’s the car looking?” Marcus asked, receiving a small shake of the head from Goris. They might have to stay the night if it couldn’t be fixed soon, and where one super mutant patrol was active, there were sure to be more.

“Vic, you’re supposed to keep the car running.” Theo hissed again. “We need to get to Arroyo yesterday! What’s going on?”

“I told you, boss, I don’t know! It’s a 150 year old car, for crying out loud, I’ve never even worked with one before.” Vic protested.

“Damn useless you are. Can’t even fix a goddamn radio.” Theo snapped, Lenny having to hold him down to prevent him trying to get to Vic. “Bet you weren’t even looking the car over before, just slap on the roof and say it’s fine.”

“I checked, it’s recent damage, I swear!” Vic argued back. “I’m doing my job!”

“Well it’s not good enough!” Theo yelled. “Everyone else pulls their goddamn weight Vic, why can’t you?”

Lenny flinched at the final statement, looking to see Vic, already struggling with his own injuries in tears from the pain and stress while Goris tried to comfort him. Theo, too, was crying. He’d regret it tomorrow, when they were back on the road and he wasn’t near delirious with pain, but for now they were stuck in a place more hostile than the super mutants, with no clear out in sight.


	13. Chemical Pneumonia (Charon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These scholarly types are going to be the death of Charon.

The vault creaked around them, Charon wincing at every sound. The metal just wasn’t up for holding up the entire mountain anymore, and being within the dead vault was a sure fire way to die themselves. But his damned Employer had commanded they explore it before it was lost forever. They fancied themselves the scholarly type, and the disasters of the vaults, in their own words, ‘Had to be chronicled for future civilisations’. Charon was less sure there was anything worth learning in the vaults at all; and he wasn’t sure his Employer was really interested in the lives lost down here as much as what Vault Tec had found.

The air tasted metallic; after so many years of rust and decay and finally being disturbed again, the air was filled with more metal than the walls possibly were. Charon didn’t want to be here, but his Employer did. And the useless sack of shit certainly couldn’t have gotten down here by themselves; dangerous, half mutated animals had occupied the entrance. But even they hadn’t bothered to go any further. As it was, Charon was leading the way through the vault, shotgun drawn, ready to take on anything that came. But they were alone down here.

Charon stepped through the doorway to what looked like the Vault Infirmary, only for the vault door to slam shut behind him. He turned around to open it again, only for the vault systems to power back up, and the vents started hissing. Charon stared at them for a moment as he pressed the door button, to no avail. He hit it again harder, and with his next breath, started coughing. Like claws dragged down his throat, something was burning him up from the inside out, making him cough harder.

But with each cough out, he took in more contaminated air, the chemicals aggravating his windpipe further, a heavy suffocating feeling crowding his chest. He held his breath as best as he could and started trying to pry the doors open, the strain on his burning lungs now unbearable as he tried not to panic, but the door was electrically sealed and was keeping him a firm prisoner.

Just as he was ready to fall to the floor, hoping the gas was too light to reach him there, the lights in the room shut off, the vents silenced, and the door slid open slowly. Too slowly; Charon stumbled out of them before the lower door had fully dropped, tripping over it and landing on his hands and knees on the other side, gasping for breath and coughing so hard he almost fell fully to the floor, his eyes pricking with tears at the sheer force of it. His Employer merely tutted.

“And what would you do without me, hmm?” They asked smugly. _Probably not spend the next 3 weeks unable to breath,_ Charon thought back snidely, but merely answered with another bout of painful coughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst part about Whumptober is that the characters you love best are the ones you'll write most and hurt most, simply because you know them and are more confident with them. So advance apologies for Tycho, Goris and Lenny, Charon, Arcade, MacCready and X6-88 cos you guys are in for fucking hell this month.
> 
> Also civilisations doesn't have a 'Z' in it brower's spell check get it RIGHT.


	14. Branding/heat exhaustion/fire (Arcade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a slave has it's ups and downs. Mostly downs. Actually, pretty much all downs. This is definitely a down.

_Learn your place, slave._

When Lucius had said that to Arcade some 12 hours before, through gritted teeth and cracks of the whip, Arcade had almost laughed in his face. He had been good at a great number of things in his time on this Earth, but knowing when to hold his tongue wasn’t one of them, and he wasn’t about to learn for the damned Legion.

He barely even remembered what it was he’d said to Lucius, possibly some scathing remark in Latin under his breath he’d hoped wouldn’t be overheard or understood. Sadly, he was mistaken. And now that Caesar was back on his feet (thanks to his skills and his fear and a heavy dose of _threats to innocent slaves of being killed, raped, tortured or worse_ if he didn’t do as he was told) he was no longer above punishment. They didn’t need the doctor constantly in tip top shape now that his patient wasn’t on his death bed.

So, with Caesar’s blessing, Lucius had chained him to the whipping post at sunrise, gave him 10 lashes and then just left him there. He’d tried to hold back his screams, promised himself he wouldn’t do it, but by the second hit he couldn’t hold it back. Now his back burnt, inflamed in an attempt to heal itself, and from being sat in the sun too long.

Because that was Lucius’ second punishment. Left him next to brazier that the other slaves had to keep stocked all day, no water, no release. Just the blazing sun on his exposed back and the ambient temperature well into triple digits. Now his head ached something fierce and his mouth was drier than the Mojave itself, but at least the sun was setting, so his sunburn wasn’t going to get any worse. Maybe things were finally looking up?

Or not. Because here came Lucius again, accompanied by a praetorian guard. The guard grabbed Arcade under the armpit, forcing him to his feet. The jostle made Arcade flinch, trying to reach for his pounding head only to be stopped by the guard.

“Learnt your lesson yet, slave?” Lucius asked, poking at the fire still burning beside Arcade.

“Actually, I’m more of a visual learner, if you could find me a book-“ Arcade started, only for the guard behind him to twist his arm until Arcade hissed in pain.

“It’ll be easier once you do. For now, I have no issue leaving you out in the sun all day, if that’s what it takes.” Lucius warned.

“Oh? And would Caesar appreciate that? Since he seems so fond of my company.” Arcade spat. He hated Caesar, and everything he did, and everything he said, and everything the tyrant breathed too, but he did have one use, and that was keeping the other high ranking members of the legion from killing Arcade. A brief flicker of muted anger on Lucius’ face told Arcade that he wasn’t going to be in the sun tomorrow, a small joy, regardless of Lucius’ thoughts.

“Only he knows what the reason behind that is. I find talking to you insufferable.” Lucius snarled, still playing with the fire.

“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

Lucius glared at Arcade, before looking over his shoulder and nodding over another guard. Before Arcade even realised he was now outnumbered, they’d cut him from the whipping post and forced him to his knees, pushing down on his burnt shoulders harshly, making him grit his teeth, while pinning his arms to his sides. Lucius walked around the fire, still holding the poker in his hand, and knelt into Arcade’s face.

“Maybe you need a reminder of your new position.” Lucius suggested, pulling the poker out of the fire. Not a poker, a brand; Arcade could clearly see the bull-shaped end that looked like the bull on the flags, and his pounding head only put two and two together in time for the guards to pull out his right arm, just before the poker touched the pale flesh, just enough time for Arcade to struggle, but not achieve anything.

Arcade started screaming before the burning pain, worse than the day in the sun, worse than the lashings, fully announced itself. His instincts kicked in, trying to pull his arm away from the heat melting the skin over his wrist, just below the veins, but the guards held firm. His fingers desperately grasped at the air, hoping to do something, anything that could stop the pain. Yet all he could do was scream, tears falling from his eyes without any say in the matter, trying to push back into the guards behind him yet failing to get anywhere, as Lucius leaned in again, the brand still on Arcade’s skin.

“Learn your place, slave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, poor Arcade. I love him so much and he's getting so damn abused this month. I feel like I need to write a fluff fic for all these guys once I'm finished to make up for it.
> 
> Also I originally planned to try and stick to 200 words per chapter to practice short stories. That failed as soon as I wrote the first chapter. Then it was 500 words. This one's nearly 800. I'm... not very good at word limits. Drove my teachers crazy too.


	15. Science gone wrong (Gideon, Marcus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master's experiments with induce psionic powers in humans has some interesting effects.

It was a strange feeling, _It’s cold, so cold._ seeing everywhere and **Strange smells,** nowhere all ~~Who put the~~ **everywhere.** at once. _Where’s my clothes gone?_ **Blood, flesh,** The halls of the The super mutants are so heavy Cathedral ~~metal in the air?~~ , covered by **melting flesh,** himself? so unyielding, storming through No, not the halls, the footsteps echoing himself, others **death** , those he could hear _Why can’t I see?_ and talk to _Hello?_ , not via **decay,** any human movement ~~That iron-y, tinny taste~~ but by a power gifted upon him at every connection.. _Why can’t I move?_ Gifted to all of them _What’s going on?_ , Whispers hidden in the dark, failures and **food? Is that food?** successes alike **Where?**. all voices coming through at once, Dark metal corridors ~~of blood droplets~~ , pulsing with life **Is it coming nearer?** , and there **And death,** mixing matching,  on his pedestal a beautiful symphony of **death** truth. **everywhere.** , _Who’s taken my legs?_ ~~hanging throughout the cathedral.~~ the Master. ~~~~

Marcus stared back at the psyker staring at him, chattering away with words Marcus couldn’t quite follow with. _Poor sod. At least the FEV didn’t turn me into that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so sure on this one. But, you can discern out what's being said in the first paragraph with a bit of patience.
> 
> Who even remembers poor Gideon from Fallout 1?


	16. Hallucinations (Vault Dweller)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only 1 more corridor keeping the Vault Dweller from the being responsible for this hell. One corridor. Should be an easy passage, right?

One last corridor stood between him and the Master. The last hurdle on his quest, the last thing threatening his home, his family, his friends. One last fight, and then no more. He’d return to his comfy bed a hero.

One step in, and he hesitated, a thick pit sinking in his stomach. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared of anything! So why was his hands shaking. He clenched his fists, took another step. He swayed on the spot, closed his eyes, shook his head. A dizzy spell. Nothing that would stop him from saving everyone. Another step.

A spark of pain ricocheted through his skull, exiting somewhere near his right eye. He grasped where it started, but it had already dispersed before he got there. Unpertubed, he took another step. He blacked out for a split second, long enough to throw him off balance, but not enough to make him fall. The corridor still lay before him; he’d barely traversed it at all. Another step.

 _He was back in the vault. It was warm, safe. No threat here. His family were waiting just two more steps away._ He crossed the gap eagerly, placing his hand on the nearest shoulder and _a corpse fell onto him. His sister, her short hair still in the pigtails as they were when he left, her skin grey with decay, gaunt and wriggling with grotesque life, but still so much like her that he screamed, going to hold her closer_

He was knelt on the ground, the body gone. Just the pulsing, grotesque walls surrounding him. He got back to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to forget the sight. He closed his eyes, and risked another step.

Nothing happened.

He took another, and felt his face get warmer beneath his helmet, the warmth running down his face into his mouth. He tasted blood and shivered; was it a nose bleed? He couldn’t risk removing his helmet now, he had to keep going, take another step.

Something clattered in the ceiling, and it grabbed his entire attention, forcing him to look up just as a sliver of white came falling, no, flying at his face, too fast, breaking the lens of the helmet over his left eye. He gasped, holding his hand up to where the darkness now emanated, pulling his hand away in horror as he felt the broken piece of bone sticking from the socket. He hears screaming, and he’s not sure if it’s from him. The pain he feels doesn’t match the screams he hears, nor the emptiness that fills him. Keep going.

A second step is haulted, and he pulls his leg up again, but it won’t budge. He risks looking down, sees the fleshy mass now covering his boot, clambering up his leg, teeth gnashing at the armor as it went. With a shriek, he kicks it away, and feels the impact as it hits the far wall, feels the sharp pain of a sudden, metallic stop against his head. Don’t stop.

The friends he made and lost along the way stand before him; hasn’t he told them to wait above, not wanting to bring them into this hell? Yet here they are, staring him down. That condescending look he hated written across all of their faces, and he can’t help the anger rising in him. He told them to wait, damnit! Why were they judging him! He aims a punch at Tycho…

But he’s gone. They all are. And he’s close, so damn close. Another step.

_He’ll never do it._

Another step.

_Who’s idea was it to send that idiot out? We’re all doomed._

Another step. _Should’ve killed him when I had the chance._

Another _No good_ Another _Worthless_ Another _Failure_ Another _Disappointment_ Another

_Failure. Traitor. Useless. Idiot. Save them all a favour and die._

Another _It’ll be easier once you’re dead._ Another _Save them the trouble for once, and do it._

…

 _Go on, it’s so much nicer on the other side._ Step. _So quick. Better than this._ Step.

_End it. Now._

**_inadequate_** Like **_collapse_** a barrage **_Immolation_** of bullets **_Destruction_** the thoughts **_breakdown_** all **_torment_** attacked at once _**deterioration**_ , a thousand words _**torture**_ , a thousand **_rupture_** feelings _**deficiency**_ , all calling **_lacerate_** for death **_downfall_** and suicide _**loser**_ , a failure **_misadventure_** in the eyes **_decline_** of the failures _**botch**_ , a failure **_decay_** in the eyes **_wreck_** of everyone. _**defeat**_

And then it was over. And he was knelt on the floor, crying, his face bloody, his helmet beside him, not even able to rub dry his pierced left eye. So close. So damn close.

“Well? Do we have to **continue** , or will you _beg me_ to stop now?”

No more steps to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creepiest part of Fallout 1 is this part, I feel. The more modern Fallouts are too cowardly to have your main character have such a harrowing experience as this on the way to fight the big boss. Actually, other than Fallout 1, all the big bads in Fallout are absolutely useless in battle. Weird.


	17. Blackmail (MacCready)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little intelligence against your enemies goes a very long way.

Winlock’s nose scrunched up as he walked through the front door of the Third Rail, the stench of booze and vomit overwhelming. How anyone could stand to wait around for work in a place like this was beyond him, but he guessed it did suit MacCready. Bunch of lowlifes wallowing in their own failures… yes, MacCready would fit in here perfectly.

He climbed down the steps to the main bar, sticking to the walls and avoiding eye contact with anyone else. He had one mission, and one mission alone, and not even the watchful glare of that stupid Mister Handy was going to stop him.

Once he was in the VIP room, he noticed someone else had beaten him there. Some vagrant-type in rags was discussing business with MacCready in hushed tones, probably asking him to guard some shipment of chems across the Commonwealth. Work that was hardly even worth it, but now he knew MacCready was desperate, he knew the kid would be jumping at the chance.

“Punching above your weight there, MacCready? This fine man seems too high brow for the likes of you.” Winlock taunted. The man turned around with a look of confusion, while MacCready looked up with great annoyance.

“Thought I told you to get lost. I’m busy getting work, not like you’ve ever see it.” MacCready taunted back. But Winlock only smiled.

“Oh, I see plenty of work with the gunners; you should remember that, you haven’t been gone that long.” Winlock laughed, staring at the client, who seemed non-plussed.

“We’ve already discussed how I don’t run with you anymore, Winlock. So just get lost.” MacCready waved him off.

“Oh? I wanted to talk.”

“Well I don’t-“

“About Duncan.”

MacCready’s hand clenched around his beer bottle, his jaw setting hard. “Who? I don’t have time for your games, Winlock.”

“Here.” Winlock passed a few caps into the clients hand. “Why don’t you go get a drink at the bar, I’m sure our friend here will be willing to talk more later.” The client looked at the caps, and turned to MacCready, utterly lost by the conversation. MacCready didn’t look back at him, just gripped his bottle tighter, avoiding everyone’s eyes. The client left, and Winlock took his seat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” MacCready insisted.

“Really? You don’t know anything about your son?” Winlock asked in a fake sweet voice, watching MacCready swallow nervously. “Poor kids sick, right? That’s why you need the money.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t have any family.” MacCready took a swig from his bottle, that familiar look in his eyes from when he used to command him to snipe at the enemy. Cold, detached. A horrible attempt at actually being a mercenary.

“Well, I must have the wrong guy then. Guess the Talon Company Mercs we sent to Megaton will just have to kill someone else’s kid.” Winlock shrugged. MacCready dropped his bottle, smashing against the floor in shock, his breath catching, before finally meeting Winlock’s eyes.

“If you’ve hurt him-“

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere. He’s safe, for now. We haven’t touched him. But I guess the future is up to you, right?” Winlock asked. “Probably would be best for you to just go back home, make sure he’s safe yourself.”

“I can’t.” MacCready hissed through his teeth. “There’s something I need here.”

“Well, looks like you’ve got a choice. Stop taking jobs and go home, or stay here and we’ll get the kid. No third options, MacCready. I want you out of Boston in a week, or we’ll hurt him.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? You’ve know how we work, better than anyone. Wonder how many bones we could break in someone that small before they stopped feeling any pain. That was always good fun to watch, wasn’t it?”

“Stop it.” MacCready demanded, clenching his hands in fists.

“Or just throw him to some mirelurks. That’s Barnes’ favourite, remember? All the blood…”

“You’ve made your point.” MacCready tried to cut him off, the desperation in his voice making Winlock laugh.

“How many bites do you reckon it’d take a Deathclaw to eat a four year old, anyway?”

“ENOUGH!” MacCready yelled, his fist connecting with Winlock’s jaw in a loud crack, throwing Winlock backwards in his chair. MacCready stood over him, fists shaking, his breath ragged. Winlock raised a hand to his jaw, standing up and over MacCready.

“You’ve got three days now. Make them count.”

Winlock turned and left the room, not looking back, and yet hearing with great satisfaction as MacCready started pacing, trying to cover the sound of his own panicked tears. Now that was a result.


	18. Phobia (Charon, Male Lone Wanderer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While wandering through DC, Zion and Charon decide to spend the night in one of the abandoned shops

“Come on, let’s duck in here a minute.”

Walking through DC at night was a horrific idea; walking through DC at night specifically hunting super mutants with someone who could get themselves lost following a straight road was practically suicide. But it wasn’t like Charon had much choice in the matter; Zion wanted to track down Reilly’s Rangers, and Charon had to obey.

The shop was dingy, with that old-world smell of nuclear decay. Zion checked his Pip-boys geigometer, and was clearly satisfied as he stepped further in. Charon followed behind, closing the door behind them, and starting to search for something to barricade it, in case they spent the night. But the shop was nearly in pitch black, and Zion was fumbling with the light on his Pip-boy. Charon searched by touch instead; a good chair would do the trick, but it felt more like fabric in here. Cheap fabric too, no good as armour.

“Give me a sec, Charon, I’ll ‘shed some light on the matter’.” Zion laughed, missing Charon’s glare through the darkness. “That’s one of dad’s, he loves it. Just don’t tell him that I said it, I’d never hear the end of it.”

This was decidedly more plastic now, and shaped weirdly; too many pointy bits to really tell what it was. No good to barricade though, so best to move on. At that moment, Zion finally found his Pip-boy light switch, finally showering the room with sickly green light, highlighting all the worst angles of the room, and finally showing Charon what it was that he touched.

Barely stifling a shriek, Charon lept back,pulling his hand in close, staring down the plastic Halloween mask. Crap, was this a costume store? Charon glanced round quickly, his stomach sinking as he realised that they’d wandered into possibly the worst store in all of DC. It was a minor comfort that it seemed to have mostly been picked clean, but the plastic faces stared back at him as he looked around, too many for comfort. Shit.

A chair. He needed a chair. Charon forced himself to turn away from the _masks_ , to continue searching for the chair he needed to keep them safe, even if they weren’t safe from the freaking _masks_. Wooden chair, plastic chair, didn’t matter, just look for the chair, don’t think of the _masks_. Maybe they could sleep upstairs, put more distance from those unsettling, unnecessary _masks_. Chair was necessary, why the people of the old world thought the stupid _masks_ were was completely beyond him, there was far better things to do with their time than make and wear those fucking _masks_.

He turned to look elsewhere-

“Boo!” A mask yelled, inches from Charon’s face. A scream forced its way out of his throat, his fists instinctively connecting with it, then shoving it away as fast as possible, just get it away from him. Where was his shotgun? Where was the door? Screw the chair, screw the super mutants, he needed out of here.

“Charon? Hey it’s alright, it’s just a mask.” Zion called back, his voice nasally, as if he was holding shut his nostrils. Charon was halfway up the stairs, the front door too far away, shaking his head. _Just a mask! Who even likes those pointless pieces of crap,_ he thought as he wrenched open the door at the top of the stairs. _Pointless, useless-_

The room beyond was filled with masks. Wall to floor, thousands of plastic faces staring back at him, highlighted by the moonlight shining through the busted windows. Charon staggered back into the wall behind him, hyperventilating despite his best efforts not to. Zion was at the bottom of the stairs with the stupid mask and there were more masks here and there was no way out, he was trapped. Trapped.

Trapped.

“Charon? The masks gone, it’s alright.” Came Zion’s soft voice. Charon hadn’t realised he’d fallen to the floor, hadn’t noticed pulling his legs in. Zion was nearby, not touching him, just talking. “Let’s find somewhere else to spend the night, alright? I’ll turn the Pip-boy light off, we won’t see them then.”

“They’ll still be there.” Charon hissed, shaking his head. Each word felt like it took a hundred times the effort it normally did, as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Good point. What do you want me to do?”

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. All those blasted masks, so worthless, pointless. What a stupid thing to be scared of, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. After a minute of silence, Zion shifted to sit next to Charon instead.

“Alright. We’ll just chill here for a moment, catch our breaths, yeah? It’s not a bad vantage point, but this shops no good for sleeping in. Too dusty, it’ll keep me sneezing all night. We’ll find somewhere else, okay?” Zion asked. Charon nodded his head slightly. Whatever his Employer said, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked forward to writing this one for a while. I would like to point out that Charon referring to his phobia as 'stupid' is not my opinion; it's his in his panicked state. I have a rather nasty phobia of stickers, sellotape, all adhesives really, so when I saw 'Phobias' on the list I knew I had to do a non-standard phobia for it. Charon's thought process as he's trying to deal with the masks is pretty much what I'm thinking when I'm around stickers.


	19. Grief/mourning loved one/survivor’s guilt (Goris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I suddenly sense that my pack is in danger. I am sorry to leave you, but I must check on my brothers."

Goris’ claws scratched the rocks in the familiar cave as he raced back to the vault door. His legs felt like stone after days of non-stop running to return home. He’d never felt that sensation before, like he was being ripped apart and yet no-one even realised anything was wrong. The screaming from afar, and no-one else heard it. And then, the silence. More painful than the tearing, the stabbing, more painful than his legs and his arms and his eyes after racing home through the desert.

He carefully pushed the numbers to open the vault door, which slid open far too slowly for his liking. The rats in the cave were gone, and the smells were all… off. No-one had passed through in a while, that wasn’t right. Gruthar liked to keep a presence outside of the vault to catch any raiders and save any settlers, and everyone felt a little cooped up in the Vault. No matter what, he should be able to smell them coming and going, but there was nothing. Nothing recent, anyway.

He shoved his way past the half open door, despite all safety precautions against it, and rushed in. The smell hit him first. Blood, and lots of it. His throat caught; he’d been expecting this, right? Those past 4 days with no-one to talk to, the silence in his skull suffocating, unable to sense his pack after all that pain… So why couldn’t he walk forward? He pushed the door button, peered through into the well-lit halls, and paused again. There was a pile of blood, but no body. Maybe… maybe they had retreated further into the vault? Maybe there was a survivor, even one…

He cautiously peered into the medical bay as he passed, and turned away again. Joseph hadn’t made it then, and from what he saw in those few seconds, it was probably from around the time of the pain.

Goris sniffed at the pile of blood, hoping to get an idea of who it belonged to. He couldn’t be certain, but it didn’t smell like Gruthar, more like Thearn than anything. _Maybe they had retreated from some attackers_ Goris told himself, knowing that there was too much blood on the floor for Thearn to have walked away.

He took the elevator down, the rattle of its descent the only sound in the vault. In the living quarters he called out, hoping someone could hear him, but only found more puddles of blood. This one smelt more like Dar, but again, it was blood. They all smelt metallic more than anything. The quarters revealed the bodies of the other humans, even Matt. So at least he knew it wasn’t an inside job. But with no signs of life, Goris didn’t know whether to keep looking. He knew he had to, to make sure no-one was alone down here. No one should be alone save for being surrounded by the dead, that’s what The Chosen One had said, right? So he had to keep searching.

The final elevator ride down to the bottom floor felt like it took forever, but eventually, he reached the bottom. The doors slowly pulled open, as if they were just as hesitant as he was. He crept inside, nose in the air, smelling for any signs of life. The library was completely empty; a weight in his stomach told him that it was where he guarded, where he stood. Of course it was empty; there wasn’t anyone to be attacked here. He had to check for the young; that was what the pack was for, right? Protect the young. He had to find them.

He rushed to the broodmother’s den, closing his eyes in horror as he passed the blood stains of her guardians Jul and Valdis, scrambling for the button to open the door. Once inside, he rushed forward, ready and willing to be scolded by Kerith for disrupting them without permission, the babies were probably sleeping after all.

But there was no-one there. Just more blood. A large one in front of multiple piles of small ones. Goris didn’t even dare smell it; he wanted the thought as far gone from his mind as possible. He just passed over, his robe trailing through the dried blood with barely any care to stop it. The eggs had been smashed, a fact he could only check by looking at the shells, and seeing the yolk spilled and staining the cave floor. Most of the unborn deathclaws were gone. The newest egg hadn’t been taken though. Goris turned away before he threw up. The shrivelled, half decayed, barely even formed body of a future packmate was going to haunt him for years to come, he could already tell.

But he still hadn’t found his father, or Ariel, or Sandy. He had to keep looking, he had to find them if they were alive. He had to… apologise, if they weren’t. Goris went further into the vault, his exhaustion getting to him at last, no adrenaline or determination to keep him going, just a small spark of hope that even one of them had survived.

Ariel and Sandy lay dead at the far side of the vault, beside the vault computer. It looked like they’d died holding each other, no doubt Ariel trying to comfort her daughter. Goris got closer, his legs unable to stop despite his head screaming for them to do so, his mouth filled with bile.

There was another puddle of blood in front of their bodies. The largest yet.

And it smelt of Gruthar.

No words came to Goris as he tried to process the scene, desperately gulping air. All the deathclaws were gone, but the humans had been left. Why? What was the purpose of removing his pack? Who’d killed them?

“What happened here?” He asked himself quietly, falling into a ragged pile beside the spot his father had died in. He should’ve stayed, he should’ve been here! Maybe he could’ve saved someone! And now they were all dead. And he was still alive, too soft to guard the brood like the other warriors; just a scholar in a warriors body. Never to fit in with the humans, never to suit guarding his own pack.

He’d failed them all. Every single last one. It was all his fault.

The computer was making some noise. Goris raised his head slightly, trying to force himself to listen to it.

“But you created us! You gave us life!” It was Gruthar! Where was he? Had he survived after all? Goris looked round desperately, but saw only a video on the computer screen, showing his father stood between some monster and a still alive Ariel and Sandy, all the other screens showing Enclave soldiers carrying out the dead bodies of the rest of his pack. The monster replied.

“And now I give you death.”

Goris squeezed his eyes shut just in time for the sound of battle to start, trying to cover his ears unsuccessfully, hearing his father lose, Ariel and Sandy scream, more bullets, and then a final order. “Take this one too, Schreber wants as many samples as possible.”

He should move. He should do something, go somewhere, lie somewhere that wasn’t a puddle of his father’s blood next to the decaying bodies of humans. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Instead, Goris curled around himself, as he used to when Gruthar would curl around him when he was young, and hoped the Enclave would come back. Whether it was to seek vengeance or his own end, he wasn’t sure.

But he was going to take them down with him.


	20. Field medicine (Lenny)

With the last slaver dead, Lenny let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, but his work had only just begun. Theo, ever the hero, had decided to run at the slavers with a super sledge, and now had enough bullet holes to act as a net. His chest still rose and fell, a good sign, but he needed help, and fast.

Lenny rushed to his side, while Sulik and Vic looked on in a mix of horror and hope. Theo was out cold, at least. Less wiggling. Lenny pulled open his doctor’s bag, scanned the contents. There wasn’t time for aseptic technique, but he had to do his best. The stimpacks would help, but those holes were too large to stitch themselves shut, and the bullets needed removing first, or all that would happen was a very nasty internal infection.

“Vic, come h-here. I need you.” Lenny instructed, fishing out a disinfectant spray. Old methods belonged in the past, mostly, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and antiseptic technique was still more viable than going in covered in bacteria.

The surgery kit was pulled out next alongside the gloves, which Lenny handed to Vic while trying to wash his hands in the little water they could spare, before carefully pulling the gloves out of the pack, trying hard not to touch the sides of the packet. How long had it been since he’d done all of this? The memory was still there though; 170 years of being a ghoul had yet to rot his memory of medical school, it was just a little bit buried under all the dust.

Next Lenny laid out surgery kit on a sterile sheet, removing the tools from the packet Vic held out, Vic now holding the disinfectant spray instead. Sulik was put on cat gut duty. 10 bullet holes to close, 3 still had bullets in them. Taking a deep breath, brushing the dust off the ancient tomes in his mind, Lenny grabbed the rat tooth forceps, and started at the cranial most hole, planning to make his way caudally. _Remember the anatomy. Where are all his vital organs?_ Blissfully not too close to the bullets, at least. And at least, while treating humans, there was a lot less debridement than treating ghouls. _Level head, stay calm. You know this. Now prove it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortunately, I'm a vet student and know a lot of medical terms. Unfortunately, sometimes those terms and tools are different to human medicine so I don't know if medics use the term cranial/caudal, since they definitely don't use dorsal/ventral, preferring posterior/anterior.
> 
> Also short one because I wasn't entirely sure what to write for it. I did have a different idea and I might write and add that later, but this'll stay as is until then.


	21. Chronic Pain/Infection (Lenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the bombs fell all of Bakersfield scrambled to get into Vault 12. But the door never closed properly.

“Give it to me straight, doc. How bad is it?”

Lenny opened his mouth to reply, but no words passed his lips. No amount of training, no amount of prior experience, would ever have prepared him for this. An overfilled vault flooding with radiation, seemingly getting worse by the day, and a very low amount of medicine. He’d seen more death in the past 10 days than he had the entire rest of his life, broke the bad news to more families than he’d ever met. And he couldn’t even do anything.

“I’m d-doing the best I can, but th-there’s only so much I can d-do for radiation sickness. W-we’re going to h-have to fight together.” Lenny explained. His patient nodded sagely, they always clung on to the smallest amount of hope, never willing to give up to the end. Even when their bodies ached and their skin flaked off, their hair falling out in clumps every morning. His current patient really had gotten the short end of the stick too; the dying flesh had become infected, they were peeling like an onion and each new layer was necrotic. Lenny knew if they didn’t improve by the morning he’d have to amputate extremities just to step the gangrene progressing.

And the ward was filled with patients just like them. Radiation sickness, radiation burns, all falling apart in front of their very eyes. Lenny barely dared to leave the ward at all these days; any time he walked past the living quarters he heard people screaming, sobbing at the first signs suddenly appearing. Hair falling out. Vomitting. Family not leaving their beds for days, too weak to come see the doctor anymore, having to be carried there by vault security.

The lucky ones died. Not quickly, mind you. But those that died in the first few days, who’d stood trying to shut the vault door to save them all even as the bombs fell, they were left to gently pass away under the effects of Med-X. But that had now all but ran out, the reserve stocks being kept for dire circumstances. Mostly the children. The adults could all bite their tongues and suffer the pain of living decay, but no-one could bear to hear the children scream. Not that there were many left.

Lenny retreated to his office, head falling into his hands. What a safe haven this had turned out to be. “A better future, underground.” Indeed. It would have been better to die quickly as the bombs dropped than the drawn out execution they faced down here. He’d barely even slept the past few days; there wasn’t many doctors in the vault to begin with, and one by one they’d all fallen ill. Only Lenny was left to tend to the sick. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to massage out the stress.

Not everyone died. Maybe that was the worst part. Sometimes people got better. And they left the ward scarred and burned, bald, their voice scratchier than a broken vinyl. They looked like zombies, groaning as they moved, the soft cartilage worn away from their joints making fast or extended movement painful. The overseer had started to separate them from the rest of the vault to stop a panic, but Lenny had an awful feeling that soon they’d outnumber the healthy humans. If any of them were even healthy anymore.

Lenny brought his hands down, seeing the handfuls of hair he’d managed to pull out with a sinking feeling. He’d seen what was to come next, had known it was only a matter of time too. For all of them. The radiation on the surface was too strong to escape the vault, the radiation in the vault too strong to survive down here. All he could hope for was for someone to care for him as well as he did others, when the time came. And maybe a gun and a bullet to end it faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got plans for all days except 25- Disorientation/blurred vision/ringing ears and 29- Intubation/emergency room/reluctant bedrest, so if anyone has a character from the list I've already written for who they'd like to see in one of those two, let me know. I'm drawing blanks on who to do what to so extra help would be splendid.
> 
> Also I just realised I never mentioned Lenny's cannonically still alive (as of 2241) dad. He's definitely alive in there. Somewhere.


	22. Drugged (Gruthar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gruthar's dealing with some painful memories now he's away from the Enclave

_This is a nightmare. A nightmare. It’s not happening._

But no matter how many times Gruthar told himself that, he still couldn’t wake up, trapped in memories that played out no matter how hard he struggled to awaken. Memories from so long ago, it might as well have been another life. Memories that, at the time, were terrifying because of the unknown, and now were terrifying because he knew exactly what was to come next. He understood every word the scientists said, every noise that was made was linked to the outcome. He was no longer a thoughtless deathclaw that knew only survival, the pack, and their enemies that needed killing.

Now he knew exactly what was going on, and couldn’t stir himself from sleep to stop them now any more than he could fight them off before.

“Fuck, at least we know those bindings are holding him tight.” One of the scientists had cursed. “Thought you said you’d given him the sedatives?”

“He’s different from the rest, maybe he needs a slightly stronger dose? We never really had a chance to investigate the alpha before. There must be physiological differences causing the physical ones we see.”

“Right. Up the dosage and keep an eye on his vitals. Any sign of trouble and we’re to stop. Schreber’s orders.”

Gruthar tried in vain to push himself up, growling at the enemies he could see all around him. Where was his pack? He needed to get back to them, needed to wipe out any that could harm them on the way. Yet he could barely even move any appendage even an inch off the cold metal table beneath him. _Metal. What a concept. He’d never even seen metal before and suddenly it became all he knew for so long._

A sharp stab in his arm made him growl again, twisting to face where the pain was, yet not getting any closer. Someone was stood there, just barely out of his range of vision, and he bared his teeth at them, trying to ram them, swipe them, anything. But all the ropes held him firm, and they were soon backing off again. They all kept their distance, too afraid by him, even if he couldn’t move.

The drowsiness took him by surprise, and not for the first time. That had been in the desert, where the golden glow of the sand felt like home, not this sterile, painful white glow. Back when those metal birds, the vertibirds, had flown overhead, dropped something into the middle of his pack that made them all feel drowsy too quickly. But this time Gruthar refused to sleep. He thought to stay awake, trying to shake himself out of the drowsiness but his movements were even more restricted than before. He parted his lips to warn them, but no sound came.

“He’s not really out, do we give him another dose?”

“Best not to risk it. He’s not moving, that’ll do for now. Let’s get to work before it starts to wear off.”

The footsteps came closer, and Gruthar tried to back off from the sound, but still he was stuck. That wasn’t right, deathclaws don’t get stuck on cold, hard, surfaces. Even in his nightmares he remembered how it all felt, the cotton-filled headiness, the terror at the sounds he couldn’t stop, his anger at being unable to return to his pack. They’d been disappearing recently (most reappearing) so often recently, always looking to him for help but there were no foes to fight. Those that came back were different in a way he couldn’t express back then. He was powerless, a feeling he’d never felt before.

The pain returned, drawn out, more progressive than the stabbing in his arm, numbed by the drugs yet still ringing clear through his skull. He tried to pull away, tried to force them to stop through fear or strength, but still his limbs wouldn’t reply, wouldn’t even try against the bindings anymore. And he couldn’t fall under that drowsiness either, the pain shooting his mind awake but not his body. But it was short lived. A small mercy.

“Okay, that’s the access point. Where’s the FEV?”

More fumbling from the scientists, then the wound was pressed on again. Gruthar couldn’t even bear trying again, knowing nothing would work. At least, whatever this was, was less painful than before, a small enough blessing that he could finally give in to that enveloping drowsiness he sought…

Gruthar jumped awake, panting slightly. _A nightmare, you knew it was a nightmare._ He told himself, yet he couldn’t risk just laying down again and falling asleep. He needed to know the pack was alright, that it was all in the past. He was still surrounded by metal walls, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on expanding on this one on the 31st.


	23. Exhaustion/sleep deprivation (MacCready)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready's having a little trouble staying asleep at the minute.

Duncan’s crying snapped MacCready out of his sleep, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. He had just nodded off too; what could Duncan possibly want now? Still he forced himself to his feet, swaying as he finally stood up and walked to the old, battered crib Duncan slept in.

“What’s up, buddy?” MacCready asked, tone lilted. He felt drunk, even though he hadn’t touched alcohol in weeks. He could barely even stand on his feet anymore. He reached down and softly stroked Duncan’s cheek to let him know he was there, but Duncan kept crying. Instead MacCready reached in and picked up Duncan.

“Right, you’ve got my attention. What do you want?” MacCready asked, sitting down in the seat he’d placed beside the crib, not trusting himself to stand while holding someone so precious anymore. He tried rocking Duncan, but the crying would not stop. He held a bottle to his lips, but Duncan refused it.

“Come on, work with me here.” MacCready moaned. He ran his free hand across his face again, leaning back in the chair. He’d barely slept in days, between his own nightmares forcing him awake and Duncan needing him every minute of the day. He tried rocking again, but Duncan just screamed louder.

“I can’t help you if you don’t help me, Duncan.” MacCready tried. Someone had once told him that talking to babies was good for them, and right now it was the only thing keeping him sane too. Maybe he wasn’t going to get an answer any time soon, but he certainly wouldn’t get one at all if he never asked.

But Duncan kept crying regardless, no matter what MacCready did. Almost as if the problem wasn’t what he was doing, but maybe… who was doing it. The realisation dawned on MacCready, bringing with it a tonne weight that nestled on his chest.

“She’s not coming back, you’ve just got to put up with me instead.” He explained, his voice croaking with the effort to explain it, to tell a young baby how his mother would never hold him again. To admit out loud that they shared reason they couldn’t sleep; that Lucy wasn’t here, and she’d never be here again.

Duncan just couldn’t understand it though, still crying, his little face red from effort, as if screaming louder would work better. MacCready held him tighter, trying to stop the tears coming from either of them.

“You’ve just got me, now.”


	24. Blindfolded/forced mutism (Goris, Schreber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intelligent deathclaws seem to be acting weird, and Dr Schreber is determined to prove that the underlying cause is that they're simply too smart.

Goris scratched at the blindfold carefully, not wanting to catch himself as he did so, hoping the scientists wouldn’t see his attempt, knowing it was a pointless endeavour. He couldn’t even tell where they were, and no doubt they were watching him again. Always watching.

“Leave it alone or I’ll be forced to shock you.” Came the cold, hard voice of Dr Schreber. Goris tried hard to hide his wince, his father’s words echoing in his mind. _We play stupid, and maybe we’ll be free again._

“I told you, they don’t understand such long phrases. Smells, simple instructions, yes, but threatening them when they can’t see the threat doesn’t work.” Explained another scientist. Goris scratched at the blindfold again, only to be shocked from behind. He yelped and twisted round to see his attacker, as any deathclaw would, the blindfold still blocking his view of them. He knew it was all automated anyway; most of the scientists were terrified to be near the deathclaws, even if they were on their best behaviour. But Schreber certainly wasn’t. Goris returned to scratching at the blindfold.

“Stop.” Came the instruction, and on cue, Goris did. _Smart enough to follow orders, but not so smart as to question them._ Exactly what the Enclave wanted. “See? Works like a charm.”

“I know they understand more complex phrases, I just have to prove it. That’s our goal today. To test the cognitive abilities of the youngest pack member.” Schreber explained. His footsteps got closer to Goris, his hand tracing Goris’ hide. Goris let out a small warning growl, trying to move out of his reach, just as he’d seen his father do. But there was quite the size difference between them, and his growl still earned more cooing than fear.

Schreber moved away from Goris, and Goris took in a sigh of relief, hearing the scratching of a table dragged across the floor, a multitude of cups slammed onto the table. Metal cups. A ball was held up to Goris’ face for him to examine. Scentless. He stuck his tongue out, went to lick it as was expected of him, only for the ball and hand to be pulled away.

“Listen to my instructions. If you get the answer wrong, you’ll be shocked again. Get it right, and we’ll return you to your pack. Understand?” Schreber asked. He didn’t want to be hurt, but if he showed the doctor just how much he understood, they’d all be hurt. He couldn’t allow that, no matter what. One cup was lifted up and placed back down on the table, presumably with the ball under it. The cups scraped across the table, sounded like maybe 5. After a moment of scraping, the sounds stopped.

“The ball is under the left cup.” Schreber instructed. ‘Left’ was one of the command words they would follow, at least, so Goris turned sharply to his left. The other scientists seemed amused by it, but Schreber did not. A rough hand grabbed Goris by a horn bud, dragged him back to facing the table. “Left. On the table.”

Goris swiped his left claw across the table, knocking over a couple of cups. No pain came, nor did any of the scientists comment on it, so it was probably what they were expecting him to do, right?

Right?

More scraping. “The ball is under the right cup.” Again, Goris pretended to misunderstand, to be dragged back to the table, misunderstand again. This time the shock didn’t hurt as much, a light scold rather than a punishment. He knocked over the right cup. Some furious scribbling was heard.

And so it repeated. After five rounds of this strange cup game, Schreber’s next instruction caught Goris off guard. “The ball is under the same cup as it was the second time.” The right cup then? But none of those were commands he’d been ‘taught’, so instead he sat still. Schreber repeated his instruction, and Goris tilted his head. No command, no response.

The shock this time was a punishment, tensing all of Goris’ muscles as it passed through him. Schreber knocked on the table. “The ball is under the same cup as it was the second time. Find it, or you will be punished again.”

The thought of punishment scared Goris, but no human scared him more than the thought of the pack getting hurt. So he disobeyed again, instead leaning forward to sniff at the table. Another punishment; he couldn’t stay quiet in this one, letting out a whine of pain once it was over. Schreber grabbed his horn again, pulling him back to the table. “Second. Time.” Schreber’s patience was wearing thin with him, it always had been. Goris went back to trying to scratch the blindfold off, and was punished once more, this time more drawn out.

With a roar, Goris smacked himself into the table instead, the panicked screams of the other scientists drowned out by the screaming in his own skull as the punishment just wouldn’t stop. But he didn’t find Schreber on the other side, his slow footsteps already walking calmly away.

“We’ll try again in an hour. Let’s see who can hold out longer, Deathclaw.”

 _It’ll be the one with more to lose_ , Goris replied silently.


	25. Disorientation/blurred vision/ringing ears (X6-88)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission to retrieve some runners has taken a painful turn

Why was everything blue? It shouldn’t be. A moment of thoughtlessness staring at that expanse of blue listening to the radio static was interrupted by a more pressing thought of _what the hell happened?_

X6 pushed himself up, the sudden movement sending the world swirling around him, nearly toppling him back again. The radio static turned out to be more like ringing, the world blurry as he tried to figure out what was going on, pushing back on the ground to try and keep himself upright, the dawning of pain running up his arm not helping the situation.

He saw flashes of red, felt the ground shake, but couldn’t figure out who was shooting who, or why. He knew he had to get up soon, whatever was going on was dangerous and being here was a sure fire way to get killed, but if the ground spun any faster, he was going to vomit all over it.

Instead he lay back and tried to piece together what had happened, closing his eyes to blot out the swirling clouds and trying to appear dead to stop the fight getting closer to him; he was in no condition to fight like this: he couldn’t keep his head straight, never mind a gun.

He had been tracking a runaway synths with another courser, and they were closing in. Usually he could take them on his own, but the SRB had intel that this was a particularly large shipment, and the Railroad would no doubt be nearby. Yes, that had all been going according to plan. So why was he now laid out in the dirt?

A flash of metal in the sky grabbed his attention, floating past his vision and off into the distance. A vertibird? Oh, right. The Brotherhood had attacked, hence the laser fire. What should have been a simple recall mission had suddenly turned into a 3 way firefight that ended with an explosion, but if the vertibird was flying off, then that meant…

X6 pushed himself up again, the ringing reaching a crescendo, his head spinning at a thousand miles an hour, his eyes still refusing to tell him what was actually going on, and his arm staging its own complaints, drowned out by the rest. He staggered to his feet and nearly toppled straight back over again, only just managing to keep upright by sheer willpower, the spinning worse than before. He needed to find his fellow courser and the targets and get back to the Institute ASAP. Failure was not an option, yet if he stayed here, it very well be forced upon him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey X6 been a while, how's the kids?


	26. Migraines (Arcade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medical exams are coming up, and SOMEONE is forgetting the first rule of first aid.

Pressing a hand to his mouth to try and combat the urge to vomit, Arcade flipped the page on his textbook, trying to focus on the words rather than the actual information, as counter-productive as that was. He needed to start somewhere at least, and just trying to read the words was hard enough.

The exams were coming up, and he needed to study more. Not that he hadn’t already been studying, but the ridiculous, niggly little details were no doubt what was going to come up in the exam, things like whether thrombin or fibrinogen comes first in the cascade, the exact names of all the enzymes in the Krebs Cycle, or telling Metzenbaum scissors from bandage scissors. He needed to get it all straight, but his head just wasn’t co-operating tonight.

The light in his room had been too bright for the past 3 hours, and every time he covered it with cloth, it dimmed and hurt a little less, only to spike again a little while later. If he added anything else, he might as well turn the light off. Then there were his eyes, dry and stinging, and no amount of taking his glasses off and rubbing them helped. The pounding in the right side of his head was getting progressively more difficult to ignore too.

He knew exactly what the problem was: a migraine. Maybe caused by the stress of exams, or he hadn’t been taking good enough care of himself, too worried with reading the endless books he’d ignored in favour of philosophy. Or maybe it was idiopathic. No real way of knowing until he passed these exams, at any rate.

But now the words no longer made sense, and the drive to keep on studying had fallen by the wayside. At the very least he knew the best way to deal with migraines, and that was what he was planning on doing. So he shut the book, turned off the barely illuminating desk lamp, and retired to his bed, hoping he felt better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First rule of first aid? Take care of yourself before others, and don't ever put yourself in harms way. Go to sleep, Arcade.
> 
> And that goes for all students out there too: Go The Fuck To Sleep. Your books aren't going anywhere, do some self care ffs.


	27. Power Outage (Raul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world's at it's breaking point

“Raul! Come here NOW!”

Raul turned back to the ranch quickly; that was his mother, yelling for him in a way she hadn’t done in many years, and by sheer instinct alone he was running back across the fields before he’d even had a chance to think about what was happening. She was waiting by the back door, eyes fixed on the skies overhead and looking terrified.

“What is it, mama?” Raul asked, being pulled into the house before the words had even passed his lips. His father was rounding up the other Tejada’s in the living room. “I wasn’t finished-“

“Never mind that.” She waved him off, slamming the door and peering through the window. “Go sit down.”

Not one to argue, Raul headed into the living room where all his family had suddenly congregated, the younger ones looking confused and a little miffed to be removed from their games, the adults all looking between themselves and the TV. The news anchor was staring at the camera, the words lost under the hustle and bustle of Raul’s family, their eyes showing the soul of a damned man. Only the words passing beneath them made any sense.

‘Nuclear warheads headed to Mexico’.

“What’s going on?” Raul asked, barely believing the TV screen, even as the anchor fought back their own tears. He was lucky to be at home, but no doubt the anchor wouldn’t get there in time, and had decided to stay on air as long as possible instead, to continue to report the news, even as the world’s time ticked towards it’s end. Raul collapsed onto the nearest sofa, Rafaela cuddling up to him in fear. All three generations had gathered around the screen, clinging to each other for comfort.

“It might just be a drill.” His father tried to comfort them. “Just making sure we know what happens if they do decide-“

A scream rang out from the TV, and the broadcast was cut off, showing only static where there had once been an image. The kids stared at it in shock, but Raul already knew what it meant; the broadcasting house had been hit. This wasn’t a drill.

They sat in horrified silence, until suddenly all the power went out in the house. Rafaela curled in tighter, Raul hugging her back. But with no sounds of explosions, no signs of impact beside the darkened TV, there wasn’t really a way of telling what was happening. Raul tried to peer through the window, might Rafaela stopped him from moving. His father went to look instead, but was pulled back by his mother.

“We’re too far out in the sticks to be hit. We’ll be fine.” Raul said, trying to comfort someone, whether it was his parents, Rafaela, or even just himself, he didn’t know. But for now, all they could do was huddle, and hope the worst had already passed.


	28. Accidents/hunting season (Young MacCready, Bumble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Little Lamplight kids have to learn how to shoot at some point or another. Some kids are easier to teach than others.

The molerat was blissfully strolling through DC, unaware of being watched. Instead it slowly moved across the fields, occasionally scratching at the ground and sniffing at it.

“Okay Bumble, you know what to do.” MacCready waved his hand at her. He wanted this over with ASAP, he only came out at all as a favour to Lucy, to help teach Bumble how to shoot. She lived up to her name with a gun just as much as she did with her feet, and none of the other kids wanted to teach her. But they’d been out a few hours now, and so far it was going fine. She wasn’t exactly on target yet, but she hadn’t shot anyone, which was roughly as good as it got with the little kids. The molerat was the last challenge, and then they were going back home.

“Right.” Bumble stood up from her spot, raising the pistol and sticking her tongue out, closing one eye. Despite all that, her hands were fairly steady, just as Lucy had promised, and when she pulled the trigger, stumbling back from the recoil, the molerat was hit. In the leg.

It let out a mighty screech, quickly turning to face its attacker and staring down Bumble with those feral eyes. She let out a slight shriek, raising her gun and trying to shoot again, but her hands were shaking too much, and the molerat running too fast.

Swearing loudly, MacCready pulled out his own gun, ready to fire off at the molerat, crouching in front of Bumble for better aim and to protect her from the incoming attack. He got the molerat in his sights, finger over the trigger-

A gun went off nearby, but it wasn’t his own, not the first one anyway. The shot was thrown off, and instead of hitting the molerat’s eye it got the skull, stunning but not killing the molerat. For a moment MacCready was stuck in an endless moment of confusion, unsure of what had just happened, before a deep burning sensation brought him back to the present.

“Mayor! No, no I’m sorry!” Bumble blurted out through sobs, her pistol dropped on the floor as she rushed over to help. MacCready flinched as she touched the wound, wincing and pulling away.

“Get off. Pick up that gun and let’s go already.” He barked, holding his shoulder where the bullet had hit. Bumble fumbled with the gun, so MacCready grabbed it out of her hands with his good arm. “Like I’m fucking trusting you with that.”

“I really am sorry Mayor.” Bumble sniffed, rubbing her eyes as she followed him back to Little Lamplight.

“You’re gonna explain this one to Lucy.” He insisted. “There’s no way I’m getting scolded for being shot by you.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Bumble wailed.

“Shut up, will ya? You’ll attract raiders.” MacCready warned, but it only made Bumble cry louder. He rolled his eyes and pushed her back into the town. Lucy was NOT going to hear the end of this one.


	29. Reluctant bedrest (MacCready, Lucy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cave in at Little Lamplight has left the doctor's office low on supplies and with an additional person sleeping in the clinic.

“Okay then, that should be you all patched up. Remember to stay safe, okay?” Red asked, ruffling Knock Knock’s hair as Lucy quickly put away the last of the tools from the days work, counting through the rolls of bandages and plasters too quickly for comfort. Knock Knock made a hasty escape while Red joined Lucy in tidying up. “Are we running low again already?” Red asked.

“The kids have all been reckless lately, I think. We shouldn’t be going through it this fast.”

“I’ll tell Mayor next time I see her. Maybe she can get the scav team to focus on medical supplies for a bit.” Red offered. “I’m going to the fungus pools, want me to bring you something back?”

“Yes please, and don’t forget RJ’s share too. He’ll kick off if you forget again.” Lucy warned. Red winked at her before heading out, leaving Lucy in charge again. It was out of hours now, so kids would only bother her if they were on the verge of death, so she retired to the back rooms for some relaxation.

RJ was sat up when she entered, uncharacteristically quiet. Lucy gave him a smile and sat down next to him.

“And how are we feeling today?” Lucy asked. RJ stuck his tongue out at her.

“I told you, I’m fine. So let me go back to the scav team already.” He whined.

“You can’t fool me, RJ. You can’t even walk, never mind shoot.”

“Don’t need to walk to shoot.” He pouted quietly. He was definitely one of the more proactive little lamplighters, that was for sure. And being told he had to take it easy for at least a few months had not gone over well with him. If it wasn’t for the fact he literally couldn’t stand at the minute Lucy wasn’t sure how they would be able to keep him in bed. “Besides, you need shit, right? You’re not gonna get it if I’m laid here all day.”

“There’s other members of the scav team, they can get us what we need without you. You need to rest.” Lucy insisted.

“I sat up by my self today, that’s gotta count for something.”

“It means,” Lucy gently pushed him back to lie down on the bed again, which was met with little resistance, “that you need to slow down. You’ll get better faster if you listen to me and Red.”

“That sounds boring.” RJ yawned.

“So don’t go jumping under collapsing cave roofs next time. It’s as easy as that.”

RJ huffed loudly, but didn’t speak up again, leaving Lucy to gently tuck him in instead.

This was gonna be a long couple of months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah this is late. In my defense I have a very good reason: I was playing pokemon themed scribbl.io with the best nerds in the world and there's nothing you can do about it.


	30. Wound reveal/ignoring an injury (Charon, Male Lone Wanderer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the replacement satellite in place and a payment to recieve, Zion and Charon return to GNR.

The winding route through the DC ruins back to GNR felt longer this time than it had before. Granted, the last time they’d passed through, the Brotherhood and helped them fight the hoards of super mutants which they now had to deal with alone. They were utterly relentless, and Zion and Charon would have just ran away if Zion hadn’t been shot in the leg, making him hobble the rest of the way back to safety. Running was no longer an option; they had to fight their way through.

After the third and most brutal wave, they finally made it to the old office building that separated the rest of the ruins from GNR. They were on the home stretch, and Zion was practically buzzing with excitement, despite wincing with every step. Soon he’d know where his Dad had gone, and each hobbled step was a step closer to finding him, to getting answers. To not being so alone in this world anymore.

That being said, Charon was being quiet. Not that the mercenary was known for being chatty, but he liked to have a good moan and groan at Zion’s choices, decisions, and actions at any and every given opportunity. He should be practically beside himself over how many super mutants they’d fought so far, and yet he’d barely made any noise whatsoever. Not to mention he seemed to be lagging behind, even with Zion limping at a snails pace himself.

Zion stopped to lean on some filing cabinets and check on Charon. They’d ran out of Stimpacks shortly after leaving the subway, so there was no hope of fixing his leg any time soon. Charon stared back as Zion eyed him up and down. He looked alright…

“No comments on my fantastic ability to always run into trouble?” Zion asked, trying to egg Charon into talking. “No observations on my utter lack of a sense of direction?”

“No.” Charon said simply, a bit too quick, and a smidge too harsh. Zion tilted his head at him. “Let’s go.”

Was Charon gritting his teeth? He was certainly avoiding Zion’s gaze as he stepped closer for a closer look. Charon’s left arm was held strangely against his side, flinching away with a hiss of pain as Zion went to check it. Ignoring it, Zion tried again, his fingers running over the black leather armour Charon wore, just long enough before the ghoul moved away again.

His fingers came away bloody.

“Charon?” Zion asked in horror, trying to see where the wound was, only for Charon to flinch away again. “What… where’s the wound?”

Charon shook his head, but the blood was now dripping to the floor. Had he been shot in the last battle? Well, Zion couldn’t help him with Charon refused to let him, so he grabbed Charon’s arm and forced it away from his side. Part of the leather was missing, showing a chunk of bloodied flesh ripped apart, possibly by bullets. Charon wasn’t even struggling to get away from Zion now; he seemed to have enough trouble standing upright without trying to wrestle himself away from the only thing supporting him at this time. Zion grabbed Charon’s other shoulder as Charon’s legs seemed to give up under him, the blood still painting the floor beneath him. They needed help, and fast.

Zion threw Charon’s right arm around his shoulder, trying to limp to GNR as fast as his legs would carry the two of them, struggling to not fall over, trying to hold Charon’s wound with his left hand while keeping Charon on him with his right, each passing second feeling like a millenia, each twist and turn threatening to leave them both flat out on the floor, until he at last reached the final empty doorway, the GNR plaza standing before them, and at the far side, Paladins.

“Help me! Please!” Zion yelled out, dragging himself and Charon along. His bad leg had gone numb and was threatening to collapse under him, and all he could tell from Charon was that he was still breathing. “Please! My friend’s injured!”

But the Paladins didn’t move. Just watched from behind those masks, utterly unreadable. Maybe they hadn’t heard him? “Help! Please! We need a doctor!” Zion was halfway across the plaza now, surely they could hear him now? “Help us!”

“Not another step, wastelander.” One paladin demanded, their minigun pointing towards Zion. He stopped in shock, not really understanding what was going on.

“My friend’s hurt.” He repeated; could they not see through those masks?

“Good riddance.” The second paladin scoffed.

“We don’t want mutants around here.” The first one explained. Mutants? There weren’t any super mutants here though.

“Please.” Zion pleaded; what were they not understanding? “We need a doctor, both of us.”

“That thing,” The second paladin pointed at Charon, half hanging off of Zion now, “Is not to come any closer to Brotherhood territory, do you understand? You can go in and get help, but its better off dead.”

The words wouldn’t seem to settle in Zion’s mind in the correct order, not making sense. Why wouldn’t they help them? Charon needed help, they could help, why weren’t they? Why wouldn’t they just help him?

What could he do? What _could_ he _do_?

One last ditch attempt.

“Three Dog!”


	31. Experiment (Schreber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schreber's made a mistake and now he needs to answer for it.

He’d been foolish. Too excited, too sure of himself. He’d let the scientific method fall away from him, forgot to run controls. And now the higher ups were angry at him; not that he’d usually care, but he actually needed them this time in order to continue his work.

“How did you manage to wipe out an entire pack of deathclaws in three hours?” The commander had yelled. Maybe she did have a teeny tiny reason to be annoyed at him, she had risked life and limb to recover the pack after all. But just as Dr Schreber had promised, everything had worked out for her, and her men had come back without even a scratch, and with an entire pack of deathclaws to boot. They had just finished nesting, and the pack was 20 deathclaws strong, plus babies.

And he had been careless.

“It was an honest mistake to make. All our projections and research states that it should have worked perfectly. We weren’t to know the deathclaws would react as such to the FEV.” Schreber explained.

“Then why would you inject ALL of the deathclaws without extensive testing first?” A scientist demanded.

“I thought that would be obvious. I was certain it would work. Saves me some time in the long run doing them all at once and cuts down the number of times we’d have to knock out the deathclaws too.” Schreber shrugged. “Cost and time effective.”

“It’s not cost effective if you kill them all.” The commander pointed out.

“Yes, I know that now.”

As soon as the deathclaws started to wake up they acted… off. They’d been at the base for a week for observation beforehand, so when they started pacing, shaking their heads with every step, Schreber had been called back to see what was going on. Within an hour they were irritable to each other, scratching at their heads every so often. Another hour and some started full on fighting, while the rest acted increasingly erratic, walking into walls and stumbling sideways across the room. By the third and final hour, they’d started convulsing, and within 10 minutes none of them were moving. They’d left them another day to make sure they weren’t just playing dead, before going in to check.

And now Schreber had to explain the reason the Enclave had just lost their entire stock of potential super soldiers, with the hope of acquiring more.

“Moreover, I know the cause of the problems and I’m certain next time will be a success. If you have any interest in seeing Deathclaws used as soldiers, I suggest we acquire another pack as soon as possible.” Schreber suggested.

“You mean us. I doubt you’re gonna put your neck on the frontline, egghead.” The commander rolled her eyes.

“We’ll consider your proposal Schreber. Now, back to your work.” The President waved him off. Schreber left with a smile; they wanted the deathclaw soldiers as much as he wanted the opportunity to work with the deathclaws more. He was getting another pack; he already knew it. They just thought they had a choice, is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I finished Whumptober! Yay! Now I'm gonna play animal crossing and get the best furniture set in the game, eat some food, and dress like a goth for the rest of the evening. I might write a fluff fic for the characters unfairly hurt by my October writing though, if I do I'll add it to a series with this. Have a wonderful evening!


End file.
